


Warning Shots

by panicattackkisses



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, YSCWAW universe, smut kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 19:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8857399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicattackkisses/pseuds/panicattackkisses
Summary: A continuation of You Should Come With a Warning.





	1. 15 DECEMBER 2016

Discovering his girlfriend in places he didn't expect to find her was one of Stiles' favourite things.

It first happened a few weeks into their fully official relationship, early one Sunday morning. Christmas was coming quickly and each new day seemed that little bit more cold than the last. Ice decorated his bedroom window and more often than not, snow could be seen falling from between the slats of his closed blinds.

He'd been accustomed to waking up a little cold, a chill running through his body as he would roll out of bed cursing their stupidly cheap accommodation and wondering aloud where the fuck their so called landlord was.

But one Sunday morning was different. The ice was still laced across the window panes and his textbooks were still stacked high on his table. But Stiles woke with something wrapped round him, a tangle of legs and arms cradling him from behind. Familiar rosy hair peeked out at him in curls and waves, mussed from bed and whatever activities it had divulged in hours before. And as the early morning light turned a little bit brighter, more white and blue filled the room.

The boy could make out the forgotten remnants of heeled shoes scattered by his doorway, a dress crumpled into a lump by his desk chair, almost as if it had once been hung neatly but then changed its mind. A tiny handbag was sitting on the mattress by his feet, completely disregarded as he spotted a lipstick underneath his chest of drawers.

Perfume that smelled like everything good in the world soon floated over his shoulder, unmistakable and undeniable. He smiled, half into his pillow and half into the winter morning air as the shape behind him shifted closer still.

A nose nudged his neck, a tad cold from the lack of heating but adorable all the same. Little hands followed suit, wrapping their way around his middle and clutching sleepily at him. A leg, bare and smooth, was thrown over his hip, keeping him close and teasing all the same. He could feel cotton against his bare back, a sure sign that someone had stolen one of his shirts during what seemed to be a drunken, late night escapade.

Looking over at his wardrobe proved his theory right and a trail of his t-shirts led to the bed, his very own breadcrumb trail that ended where his girlfriend started.

He rolled over, slowly and gently, stifling a laugh as small hands twisted their way into the hair at the nape of his neck to keep him still, and Stiles turned just in time to see a frown appear on pretty lips, unimpressed with being moved so rudely. As he settled back down into the pillow, Lydia did too, her lips and brow smoothing out and she shuffled closer, the too big shirt she wore rucked up by her ribs.

She successfully tucked herself under her boyfriend's chin, butting at him slightly when his hands didn't immediately find her head and Stiles laughed through his nose before curling his fingers through her hair, scratching at her head and smiling at her contented little noises.

"Mornin' Kitten."

"Hi," the sheepishly small voice spoke back.

The hour was still early, barely past 7am and winter outside made everything soft and delicate. The world was smothered under snow and ice and Stiles had found his girlfriend hidden under sheets and his old Led Zeppelin shirt, masses of hair and pouty lips. There was worse places to be.

So the boy sunk lower into the bed, his lips finding the crown of Lydia's head in a kiss, short and sweet. And he wrapped himself around her like she had done to him, legs tangled and his hands splayed across her sides, tracing the outlines of her hipbones as he went.

"How was your night out with the girls?"

His voice was low and gravelly from sleep, lazy and slurred and everything Sunday mornings were supposed to be. He craved coffee and sex, could smell the familiar scent of cherries and tequila from his girlfriend's lips. He smiled, knowing.

"Got drunk, too much vo'ka," a heavy sigh, "Kira made me d'it."

"You're easily led," Stiles muttered, nosing at Lydia's chin as she spoke, silently telling her to make more room for him as he dropped kisses onto her neck.

"Mmm," she agreed, "Then I found some tequila and-"

"You found some tequila? Kitten I think we should discuss-"

"No, shhh, listen," she scolded, eyes still closed and head in the pillow, "and then I went to Deaton's and I found Isaac 'nd I was sad 'cause you weren't there so Isaac lemme share his fries and then I made him give me a piggy back ride home-"

The girl sighed as if the telling of her night was too tiring and she yawned as if to prove her point.

"-he's so tall y'know? Isaac's just so tall. But then he let me in and I jus' crawled in here."

"I need to supervise you."

Stiles' voice was half serious, half playful but he eyed his girlfriend warily, his lips finally turning up into a smile as she cracked one eye open, bright green and a little sleepy looking.

"No you don't. S'fine."

And as if to prove her point, she clambered on top of him, anything but graceful as her legs splayed themselves on either side of his hips, her toes poking at his knees and a curtain of rose gold surrounding him. The air shifted and so did Stiles' hips - and suddenly - it wasn't so cold anymore.


	2. 04 FEBRUARY 2017

It was ten days until Valentine's Day and Stiles was clueless. Years had passed since middle school homemade cards, almost violent with their pink hearted fronts and glitter words. Even longer had passed since Stiles had given one to a girl who wasn't his mother.

And now, he was sitting across from his girlfriend of three months, quiet in the library and surrounded by posters reminding him of the upcoming date. Hearts and flowers were plastered everywhere, the number "fourteen" emblazoned on leaflets announcing flower delivery services and special meal deals at Deaton's between five and ten.

Stiles scrunched his nose up at both suggestions, especially the latter as fuzzy memories of long ago came to his mind.

He knew exactly what went on in Deaton's bar after closing time.

So he chewed his pen, biting down on the plastic lid as he drummed out a beat on the thinly carpeted floor with his shoes. He watched the clock tick towards 10pm, he watched the last of the students slump through the doors, he watched the librarian behind her desk, checking in returned books.

But he watched Lydia the most.

It was still deep in winter weather, the cold calling for knitted sweaters and long scarfs, hot drinks between lectures and a longing for warm beds as students slid around on slick ice on campus.

So it wasn't a surprise to see the girl bundled up in a huge, aran jumper, too long on her arms and once belonging to Stiles himself. Her hair was wild as ever, bright and tumbling down from a bun that the wind wreaked havoc with on their walk to the library, making her green eyes shine and her hand cling that little bit tighter to her boyfriends.

The girl was reading quietly, her lips tucked between her teeth in concentration and her legs folded underneath her, neatly lettered notes on loose paper beside her. She scrawled the names of mythical beasts in one column, jotted down lunar cycles in another.

The boy smiled as she swirled her "L's" and curled her "Y's", making a point to bookmark each page she took her information from.

"You're staring."

Lydia's voice broke him from his thoughts, a little too loud and abrupt in the otherwise silent library. The elderly woman at the front desk scowled appropriately in their direction.

"I always stare at you Kitten."

"Mmm," Lydia agreed nonsensically, still looking at her notes, "that doesn't make you creepy at all."

"It's not creepy if you're my girlfriend ," Stiles explained to her with a smile, "that's like, the rules."

Lydia finally looked up from the desk, stray curls spilling across her cheeks as she raised an eyebrow and tried not to grin.

"Is this part of the same rule that allows you to join me in the shower most mornings?"

"Obviously."

"Thought as much."

"Don't get too smart Kitten, it's my shower you're normally using. Plus we're saving water," Stiles smirked, letting his eyes linger on the hint of skin that was peeking out from the neck of Lydia's jumper , "I can assure you it has nothing to do with you being naked. Or wet."

"Purely economical then?"

"Purely economical."

Stiles let out a huff of breath that hid a laugh, peeking up at the girl through his eyelashes and fighting a grin, "...plus we're pretty much banned from your dorm bathroom."

Lydia managed to contain her blush to a light pink and merely rolled her eyes before grabbing her books and shoving them into her bag, eyeing the door and holding her hand out to Stiles.

The boy let out a sigh of relief as their studying ended and met Lydia around the other side of the table, dropping a kiss to her temple and slinging his arm around her shoulders.

They escaped the large room, cold with its icy draughts from too big and too old windows and walked past the computers that were unused but still humming, low and constant.

They walked by the pile of books my the librarian's desk, ignored her tut of disapproval as Stiles lightly slapped Lydia's ass, grinning at her answering squeak.

They walked by the posters adorned with pastel love hearts, glitter spread around it like a growing disease, bright and tacky and everything Stiles never used to understand.

"Uh.."

Lydia had one hand on the front door as she looked up at him, cheeks rosy and brows raised expectantly.

"What's wrong?" She asked the boy, noting his scrunched nose, his tilting head.

When Stiles didn't answer, she followed the boy's gaze and her mouth fell into a little 'o' as the poster stared back at her in reply. Not wanting to push or freak out the boy who never usually dated in any way, Lydia wrinkled her own nose and said:

"It's a little gaudy, isn't it?"

When the boy only blinked in response, Lydia smiled softly, nodding to the offending poster. She swallowed heavily, the roses and other pink toned flowers and stars glittering back at her tauntingly.

"You, you don't like it?'' Stiles asked, throat a little dry, "Valentine's day?"

Lydia shrugged, finally opening the heavy library doors that led to the middle of campus. Bitter wind swept through her, chilling her through knitwear and skin and right to the bone. Stray hairs flew wild and soon Stiles was next to her again, his lips a little chapped and his eyes glittering.

They stared, side eyed, at each other for a few seconds while answers and responses flicked through Lydia's head like flashcards, each one more disastrous than the next. She didn't want to scare him away, not only a mere few months into the relationship.

Things had been tricky and bumpy and wonderfully dangerous, their push and pull game finally ending under the spray of a too cold shower, lips clumsy and needy, teeth clashing from smiling too hard. They'd taken it slow, never really announcing it publicly, their close friends merely guessing from their sudden happiness and the never ending kisses between classes.

So she shrugged again, her lips turned down almost comically as she told him, "It's overly commercialized, right?''

Internally, Lydia knew - that somewhere - a Kira had just died, probably clutching red, heart shaped balloons.

Her boyfriend eyed her skeptically, their footsteps in sync as they both left prints in the freshly fallen snow, a thin layer that was slippy more than pretty and Stiles shifted his bag to his other shoulder in order to link his fingers through Lydia's, pulling her to his side and offering both balance and warmth.

"You really aren't bothered?''

Another shrug and thoughts of overly priced meals in too fancy restaurants flashed through the girl's mind. Tight cocktail dresses that made breathing uncomfortable and hissed arguments through gritted teeth at the end of a too long night.

Truthfully, Valentine's day had never been one of Lydia's favourite holiday's and she hadn't been one to hype the day up. Jackson always tried to go out of his way to do something extravagant, and whilst the intention was usually sweet, it would always end up in another way to brag about his family money, his flashy car and once again, Lydia merely being the trophy on his arm to show off.

But the thought of spending the day with Stiles made something warm erupt inside of her, something that made her skin prickle and her heart melt. So she bit her lip and smiled at the boy, casual and with nothing to hide, as she buried all thoughts of bed days with breakfast and crisp, white sheets, kisses that ran low on bodies and toe curling hours spent under showers.

So Stiles dropped the subject as he walked her back to her dorm building, followed her up the stairs with smart comments about tight jeans. He ducked expertly when she swatted him, gave her back her heavier books and leant down just enough so his girlfriend could kiss him warm and deep.

He was almost about to walk away when he placed a gentle hand on the door, stopping it from closing and answering her unspoken question by leaning on the door frame and moving in close.

His breath tickled her stray curls as he let out a sigh that sounded nervous, felt shaky in his ribcage and made his heart rattle. So he pulled Lydia closer for confidence, his lips curling softly as she let him, her hands going to his sides like second nature as his hands found her hips.

When he spoke, it was quiet and soft like the snow outside and there was a smile playing on his lips like he was scared to let it out, not just yet. And Stiles blinked, once, twice, tucked his lips into his teeth and finally asked:

"So, if I didn't do anything for Valentine's day, you wouldn't care?''

He watched the girl mull it over, her fingers playing with the cotton of his shirt, the hem tucked between finger and thumb before she answered just as softly, "not if you don't want to.''

Stiles nodded, slow and sure and thinking.

"Okay. What if I told you, I did want to do something? For us, well, for you,'' Stiles licked his lips, swallowed again, a little more nervous than before, "what if I wanted to do something for you?''

Lydia's smile split her face, wide and pretty pink with lipstick, showing dimples and teeth and making the snow outside seem that little bit warmer. She tamed it, blushing, as Stiles bit back his own grin. He kissed her dimples away, nipped at her neck as she curled her arms around his own and let him lift her to her toes. She clung a little tighter, whispered a little softer, that she wouldn't mind that all.

It was three days before Valentine's when Stiles called Lydia, asked her to come round to the apartment. He told her three times to stop asking questions, called her 'nosy' five times and hung up on her twice before she called him back and agreed without any more protest.

A questioning look was thrown to her roommate and her own boyfriend, eyebrows raised as they avoided Lydia's gaze.

"Do you two know anything about this?''

Scott babbled senselessly, stammering over each word as he picked threads from where he was sprawled on Allison's duvet. Allison herself simply shook her head, a soft and secret smile on her lips.

"Just go already," the brunette told her friend, "and no, you don't need to get ready, you look perfect as it is."

She raised her brows knowingly as Lydia subconsciously took a step towards their shared dressing table and Lydia eyed her favourite red lipstick with a frown.

"No," Allison repeated, throwing her winter jacket at Lydia, "go. Now."

"Fine," Lydia huffed, shoving her arms through the sleeves of the warm material, her curls messy and stuck to her flushed cheeks. She was out of the loop apparently and she didn't like it.

Stiles and surprises usually didn't go well together.

But the door clicked decisively behind her and she made her way out the dorm and across campus, finding that out of curiosity and excitement, her steps quickened.

Lydia passed Isaac on the outside stairwell and he brushed by her with a friendly pat to her curls, winking conspiratorially as she realised he wasn't stopping to chat.

"Where are you off to?" She called back down the stairs, her eyes suspicious as she quickly learned both other boys were suddenly vacant from the shared apartment.

Lydia has also learned over the year that Isaac's naturally English accent thickened when he became nervous or lied. And the next sentence to leave her friends mouth was fully British.

"Uh, um, class?"

"Isaac it's Saturday."

The boy shoved on a woollen grey hat he'd been fiddling with nervously, the bobble on top wobbling violently as he looked around as if someone was suddenly there to help him.

Finding no one, he too, babbled senselessly about the library and tests and 'oh, Malia's calling me, bye' and he walked out onto the winter campus as he loudly and badly said hello into a cell that had never rung.

Lydia wasn't sure what she was expecting when she opened the door to the apartment that housed some of her favourite people.

Hundreds of candles? Balloons? Red and pink rose petals scattered across the floor?

As she stepped through the threshold, it turned out it was none of them and she was surprisingly thankful. Valentine's Day wasn't for another few days but Lydia had a feeling something was happening. Something big, something special. It made the air vibrate and buzz, it made her lips part, her eyes search the apartment for something out of place.

The lights were dimmed lower than usual and the TV was on mute. The kitchen was clean and sparkling but Lydia had her suspicions that that was due to Isaac's sudden late night weed induced habits.

Her shoes squelched slightly on the wooden floor and she toed off the boots, padded softly across the boards as she called out for her boyfriend.

He rounded the corner that led to the bedrooms and bathroom, his hair fluffy and a little mussed from just being dried, his jeans and t-shirt soft and well worn.

He grinned when he saw her, his eyes lighting up like it was Christmas all over again.

Stiles swooped down on her enthusiastically, kissing away the grin that has already appeared on her lips at the soft, familiar sight of him. He smelled good and fresh and like Stiles, leaving mint toothpaste kisses along her cheek and jaw, letting his arms wrap around her in their favourite place on the dip of her waist.

They shuffled to the sofa like that, his nose in the crook of her neck and Lydia humming happily, her fingers already threaded through his hair.

"Hey, Kitten."

Together the slumped to the couch, Lydia half on his lap and neither of them minding.

The girl pulled back enough to smile in greeting, her finger still scratching at the nape of his neck as he leant into her touch.

"Hey to you too."

Stiles stole another kiss, soft and a little sleepy and he let the roughness of his palm skate over the bare skin under her sweater until she shivered.

He grinned as he got the response he wanted, chuckled a little smugly when he tried to pull away and his girlfriend clung onto him a little tighter, prolonged their kiss with nip to his lip and a sweep of her tongue.

"Hmm," the boy hummed content and happy into her mouth, "no, no Kitten, uh-uh."

He pulled away, laughed at the pout on Lydia's lips before he whispered a promise against them.

"Not yet."

Surprised, Lydia scooted back against the cushions, her lips already rosier and full, her cheeks flushed.

"So, Stilinski, if I'm not here for you to drag me to bed, what's your plans with me?"

"Oh, I definitely intend to do that," he told her with a smile that was soft and sweet and suggested everything but, "I also have something else planned."

"Do go on," Lydia pushed, her eyes curious.

"This," Stiles gestured to the empty apartment, "is our Valentine's Day."

Lydia looked at him a little blankly, waiting for him to explain further.

So Stiles scooted a little closer, tangled his fingers between his girlfriends and tried not to smile at the confused furrow between her brows.

"Babe, it's the eleventh..." Lydia started to question.

"...yeah, yeah I know, I know. But I was thinking, you see," Stiles explained, "this takes the pressure off right? No rules to stick to, just us and whatever we want to do, right?"

"No overly commercialised bullshit?" Lydia asked quietly, a smile growing on her lips as she spoke.

"Zero, zilch, nada, none," Stiles smiled back, "so, we're gonna do our favourite things."

"And what would they be?" The girl asked, voice a pitch lower as she leaned in, teasing her boyfriend's lips with the promise of a kiss.

He skimmed his lips over hers, too close to resist and tasting cherry, "I've got Chinese food being delivered as we speak," he pressed his lips to Lydia's, soft and sure.

"Mmm," Lydia closed her eyes, feeling Stiles move to mouth over her jaw, barely there and teasing "extra spring rolls?"

Stiles huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh into the crook of her neck, "extra spring rolls, yes."

"I have your favourite wine in the fridge," he went on, " that cheap one from Walmart that you won't actually admit you love, you wine snob," Stiles chuckled, pressing kisses along the girl's jaw as she let out a laugh, knowing and a little embarrassed.

"And there's Ben and Jerry's in the freezer?" Lydia guessed as she moved over onto Stiles' lap, her legs straddling his hips.

Stiles could only nod as she pressed down into him, his lips parting without any sound coming out. So she placed two fingers under his chin, lifted his face from where her too big sweater had slipped down and exposed the curve of her breast.

"Anything else?" She asked sweetly.

Stiles nodded, leaning into her to catch another kiss, told her how he kicked Scott and Isaac out, how they could sprawl across the couch and watch their favourite movies without anyone interrupting.

And Lydia decided that yes, Stiles was right, this was pretty much perfect.

Then, when the clock was ticking towards one in the morning and Chinese takeout cartons lay empty beside the melting remains of too much chocolate ice cream, Stiles decided to give Lydia her Valentine's Day present.

He didn't think it was much and it wasn't wrapped in a bow. It didn't come with a bouquet of roses and there wasn't any glittered hearts but he took a deep breath and gave it his best shot anyway.

They were lying on the sofa, sleepy and sprawled out like Stiles had promised when he nudged the girl and whispered in her ear, asking her to turn around.

So she did, the movie on pause and everything quiet. The lights were soft and the snow outside made everything pink and pastel, grey candyfloss clouds painted the sky outside in the sky.

And when they lay face to face, their noses brushing and their breaths suddenly so shallow and heavy, Lydia knew this was the thing she was looking for, that expectation, the hidden secret that made the air buzz and her heart jolt.

Stiles took a deep breath, licked his lips and tucked a curl of Lydia's strawberry hair behind her ear.

It didn't come in a pretty wrapped up box, nor a jewellery brand. There was no sparkle or fanfare. But it dropped like a bomb, creating explosions in their lives and made everything colossal, huge, a little life changing.

So he made sure he was looking in her eyes, cleared his throat and spoke soft and sure.

"Lydia, I love you."


	3. 23 MAY 2018

Lydia and Stiles share a special kind of love. It's a particular kind of love. It's a dangerous kind of love, the kind that could make cities crumble and turn to ash, one that could make the planets above turn to glitter and stardust. They could set the whole world on fire.

And when they argued, they could completely obliterate it.

The apartment was dark and it shook when Lydia slammed the door, her huffing breaths shallow and tinted with anger and frustration. The door slammed again, mere minutes later, when Stiles came through it, making his girlfriends bones rattle at his harshness, her fingers curl around the kitchen counter when he let out a soft curse.

The room was too stuffy, too warm, too close. Summer was coming, settling itself into the air and making clothes stick to skin. It was late, too late, almost morning and everything was navy and bathed in shadows. The sky was indigo and the kitchen was grey, street lamps amber and making edges harsh, the lines of Lydia's lips harsher.

"You didn't have to storm out like that, Lydia."

The girl rolled her eyes and kept her back to Stiles, tried not flinch at how her name sounded so clipped on his lips. She refused to turn at the sound of his steps falling closer on the wooden floorboards, tried not to seethe at the lingering images of her boyfriend at the bar she, had indeed, stormed out of.

And when the silence had stretched on for a few minutes longer, Lydia let go of her white knuckle grip on the counter, let her body whirl around until the boy was in front of her, shirt collar rumpled and unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up and his expression heated and a little wary.

'Cause the girl was a dirty, pretty thing. A hot mess, disheveled and fizzing, leaning against the worktop with dark eyes and one hip cocked out, her dress a little creased and riding up at her thighs, legs long and tanned peeking out from underneath. And where her dress dipped down to reveal sharp collarbones and a little too much cleavage, her chest heaved, anger stirring inside her.

Stiles tried not to let his lips part, let his eyes drift. 'Cause he was in trouble and he knew it.

Lydia crossed her arms and Stiles winced. The boy held out a hand, half an offer, half the beginning of a sentence he didn't really know how to start.

"Kitt-''

"Don't even think about it Stiles.''

He rolled his eyes at the expected response, huffed and ran his fingers through his hair until it stood on end, let his body slump to the cold wall when Lydia walked away, her heels clicking sharply.

The bedroom door slammed and Stiles swore into the night, scrubbed at his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose before stalking down the hall and opening his bedroom door, internally grateful that his roommates were still out, drinking into early morning.

The sky was lilac through the bedroom window and Stiles stepped over Lydia's deserted heels in front of the door, watched how her body shifted and curled as she dropped the straps of her dress, let her summer warmed skin reveal itself to him, all freckled shoulders and graceful back. Her hair tumbled down and covered the majority of it, curls swinging in the low light as the black material rucked its way down to her waist.

"Lydia, look, I'm sorry, okay?''

The girl scoffed in reply, her chin tilted upwards as she stared forward, the white wall decorated with polaroids taken by Kira; snaps of their friends, the two of them wrapped around each other, a mirror that showed her boyfriend behind, hair soft and mussed, and features sharp. His lips said sorry and they slanted down at the sides apologetically but his eyes were trained on the bare skin of her back, the slope of her ass that made the silk of her dress slide down further.

"Stiles," she snapped, rounding on him.

"What? Yeah, yes, Kitten, I'm listening,'' he insisted, his eyes darker than before but now trained on her own.

She stood in silence for a few more seconds instead of responding, torturing him more than anything considering she wasn't wearing a bra. Only her hair covered most of her, the ends of her locks tickling the undersides of her ribs.

She watched the boy gulp, watched his adam's apple bob heavily as he proved her wrong and kept his gaze trained on her own. But he clambered onto his bed, their bed, his knees on the mattress as he shuffled over to the side Lydia stood at, his hands reaching for her waist, for her hand.

"Babe, Kitten, come on,'' Stiles grumbled, his eyes starting to wander, his hand wrapping around her wrist, sliding down to her palm. He waited a beat or two, gave his girlfriend the opportunity to push him away.

When she didn't, Stiles shuffled a little closer, eye to eye as he kneeled down slightly, cupping the girl's face and let his thumb pull gently at the corner of her lip a little, prompting and cajoling.

"Kitten, you know I didn't do it deliberately, huh? You know that, right?''

"Stiles,'' Lydia huffed, still unhappy but unwilling to pull away from his touch, the warmth and familiarity that came from having his hands on her skin.

"Mmm?" Stiles murmured, letting his head loll against his girlfriend's chest, nosing at the crook of her neck and his hand running up and down her bare sides. The alcohol that Isaac had plied them all with earlier was quickly catching up, that and the late night hour that made everything slow and sleepy.

She ached for warmth and she longed for bed, to strip down and let Stiles tangle himself around her. But as the boy in question let his hands wander down, she remembered why she was pissed at him, just at the same moment his fingers curled around her dress and pulled, pouting.

Lydia moved away just as the dress fell to the floor and she didn't miss a beat as she stepped out of it, left it at her side of bed before walking away from Stiles' greedy hands. In nothing but black lace underwear that happened to be her boyfriend's favourite, she stared the boy down, arms back to being crossed.

So Stiles let himself fall back onto the bed, his body bouncing slightly and his hands coming to cover his face, his groan rumbling against his palms as he announced:

"You're fucking killing me Kitten."

But Lydia didn't give, merely lifting one foot to prod at his leg, gaining his attention before turning to the window and watching the night change to morning, the sky a palette of pastel colours and clouds that seemed too big for the world.

Stiles sat up, propped himself forward on his elbows and unbuttoned his shirt a little more. He watched his girlfriend watch the world, let his eyes rake over his favourite parts of her. He smiled at all the bare skin and black lace, grinned at how the morning sun made her hair catch fire.

"Baby, come to bed."

The girl bit down on the smile she didn't want to show, turned with a flick of her hair and a raised eyebrow. Stiles only called her 'baby' when he was either very drunk or very apologetic. And at the moment in time he was both.

"Come on, Lydia, please, come sit so I can say sorry again.''

He looked up at the girl, his heart stuttering over itself when he saw her giving him those ocean eyes, pools of green and framed thick with lashes. He silently congratulated himself when the girl seemed to concede, let herself pad over to the bed with bare feet, crawl over to him so she could straddle his lap and make his jaw tighten.

His hands warmed her waist, the bare skin trapped between his palms that were rough and soothing, tracing patterns over her, tapping out a little beat over her ribcage and dipping over her hipbones. He nosed at her, his bridge drawing lines on her sternum as her hands found purchase on the nape of his neck.

"Am I forgiven?''

The boy's words were spoken into her skin, his breath hot on the side of her breast. She leaned into him more, the touch a necessity as sleep stirred through her bones and made her body heavy and greedy for the boy before her.

"No," Lydia told him, despite her lips brushing against his jaw, "not that easily Stilinski.'' Her hands grasped the hem of his shirt, pulled it out from his trousers and began unbuttoning it leisurely, "do you even know what you're apologising for?''

"For being a jealous, possessive ass?'' the boy grumped.

Lydia let out a breath of laughter, finally managing to undo each button before shoving the offending material off of the boy's shoulders and down his arms.

"Here was me thinking you'd plead the fifth," she muttered softly, taking her boyfriend's chin in her hand and looking at his eyes.

Her expression soften at the guilt she found mixed in with amber and gold, so she sighed and leant back slightly, let her fingertips graze over his abdominal muscles, the waistband of his trousers.

"I don't like Aiden," Stiles huffed, his eyes trained on where Lydia was touching him.

"Hmm, so I've noticed,'' Lydia mocked.

"Kitten, I didn't do it to piss you off, I promise,'' Stiles told her softly, the rising sun making everything gentle and quiet and his mood shifted to match, "he's just always there.''

"Stiles, the boy lives in my dorm building and I share one lecture with him... he just happened to be at the same bar as us, he's hardly doing anything wrong,'' Lydia chastised.

"Yeah but he's always touching, why does he have to touch you?'' Stiles whined, fully pouting as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, pulling her into him so he could snuffle into her neck, place his lips on her pulse point.

Suppressing another smile that she decided the boy didn't yet deserve to see, Lydia allowed him to pull her to him, their chests meeting, bare skin on skin. She tugged at his earlobe, raked her hand through his messy hair, soft and full of affection.

"Stiles, he's not exactly trying to lead me to bed, especially when you're glowering at him from the corner of every room."

"I'm just saying, if I wasn't staring him out, he'd probably try to lead you to bed..."

Lydia rolled her eyes, leaned back slightly so her boyfriend could see her frustration. He winced.

"And even if what you said had any truth behind it at all, don't you trust me?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, tightened his grip on his girlfriend's waist and leaned in a little, closed the gap between them.

"Kitten, of course I trust you."

"Well why do you feel the need to take everything too far?!" Lydia asked, exasperated and too sleepy. She leaned against the boy again, her energy for the argument leaving her body as the sun rose outside.

Stiles thought back to the red haze that shifted over his vision an hour ago. The fizz in his chest when he watched the familiar hulking frame slide over to his girlfriend at the bar, the arm that just had to wrap itself around her shoulder.

And when Aiden playfully tugged on one of Lydia's curls, Stiles had ignored Scotts warning, skirted around Isaac and made his way through tables and chairs with one thing on his mind.

So he'd pulled Lydia away from the other boy, gentle, merely coaxing - but with deliberate intent not to share. And he seen the challenge in the other boys eyes, ignored the annoyance in Lydia's. He'd been too smooth, a little too showy in his movements, the way he titled Lydia's chin so he could place a kiss on her lips, whispered in her ear until Aiden gave in and walked back to the pool table.

He was triumphant, too alpha male and too ignorant to notice how pissed off Lydia was until she had bid goodbye to Kira and Erica at their table, waved at Scott and Isaac whilst rolling her eyes. She'd hailed a cab and was on her way back to campus just as Stiles felt a stab of guilt and made it out the door.

He sighed, pulled Lydia even closer on his lap, fingered the lace edges of her underwear and placed kisses along her jaw.

"I really am sorry, Kitten," Stiles murmured softer than ever and with a voice full of apologies, "he just winds me up."

Lydia hummed again, sighing into the boys touch. Their foreheads met, clumsy and familiar, she pouted, watched Stiles eyes crinkle and turn to burnt chocolate under her gaze.

"Please, please, forget about him? Huh?" Lydia asked, her skin turning to summer under the new sun that flooded through half open blinds.

Birds chirped and the air was a little warmer than before. She placed an open palm on the boy's chest, pushed until he took the hint and fell backwards into the mountain of pillows Lydia felt was compulsory in one's life.

She leaned over his frame, her hands on either side of his head as she tried not to return the smile he was already giving her, the one he saved for bed, when she was under or over him - for her eyes only.

"I'm very much my own goddamn woman, Stiles Stilinski," Lydia warned, her tone low and husky and strict and fucking heavenly to Stiles' ears.

She nipped at his chin, his jaw, swept the tip of her tongue over the seam of his lips, kissed the freckles on his cheek.

"But if I'm ever going to belong to anyone else, it'd be you, okay?"

Stiles grinned, blinding and pretty and stupid. Sleep was all around him but so was summer and so was Lydia, and he didn't know what was better, so he tugged the girl down by her wrists, kissed across her body and grinned some more when she squealed and let him fuse his lips to her own.

"Can I get that in writing?" He asked her, half joking, half serious.

Lydia spluttered, disbelieving, her hair a mess across her cheeks and her eyes glassy with laughter.

"Not a chance."

Stiles smirked, flipped them over until they were horizontal across the mattress and Lydia was underneath him, pretty and pink and barely dressed.

"No seriously," he joked, his face pulled straight, "I'll make it into, like, a sign, you know?"

Lydia laughed, her hands smoothing down his manic bed hair, her finger lingering at the line of his jaw as she looked up at him in amusement.

"Like one of those placard things? That you wear over your body?" Stiles could barely keep his laughter in, his smile spilling over the edges of his lips, his eyes shining.

"Oh sure, that'd make it real easy for you to keep me in check, huh?" Lydia quipped, her hands reaching for the button of his trousers. She squeezed, he grinned.

"Yeah, you need to come with some sort of warning Kitten."     

 

  
  A/N: Okay, so, someone asked for jealous Stiles and angst etc, and well, it started as that and somehow ended with half naked, drunken fluff cause that's the type of trash that I am. Apologies. But anyways, if you liked the chapter let me know, cause it makes me happy. And if you wanna follow me on Instagram (@maganwrites) you'll makes me even happier - plus, you'll see more sneak previews of chapters and general pretty edits. Win/win right?


	4. 07 JULY 2019

They didn't have a happy ever after. Not right away. Not the first time around.

Stiles had had Lydia in his life for three years before life got twisted in ways that didn't make much sense to anyone anymore. The stress of their last year at college and exams took hold of them, grabbed them by their lungs until stress filled the spaces between their bones. And when Lydia's grandmother passed away halfway through the second semester, she crumbled, and Stiles wasn't sure if could piece her back together. So the girl left for home, a backpack in one hand and Stiles' own in her other as she clung to what she knew was the last little parts of them.

Phone calls from underneath duvets and pillows hid tears and sad voices, strained conversations became shorter and slower until a month passed and Lydia was nursing her mothers broken heart along with her own.

When she came back to Princeton at the start of July, Lydia brought summer with her with a California tan on her skin that she hadn't realised she'd missed. Allison greeted her with a flurry of long dark hair and glassy eyes, throwing her arms around her in the middle of campus, Scott watching them both fondly before he wrapped his arms around the girl too.

And their conversation turned stilled when they asked if Stiles knew she was back, the girl had to lower her gaze and watch the breeze stir up fallen cherry blossoms before she told her two friends that she hadn't spoken to Stiles all that much.

Allison watched Lydia's lip tremble, her green eyes turn into an ocean that threatened to flood, so with one look at Scott she took the girl by her hand and led them back to their dorm. And they curled together in Lydia's bed and the brunette listen to the strawberry blonde's words, curled closer when she finally let herself burst and the tears made tracks down her cheeks.

"Do you still love him?" Allison asked, soft and quiet and with her chin tucked on Lydia's shoulder.

"Yes," the girl whispered back, her voice letting go of secrets she thought she would never have to say, "of course I do."

"Then what's going on Lyd? What's happened, huh?"

Lydia laughed, a bubble of tears and frustration and confusion, "I have no idea. I don't know- I just-."

She turned around, faced her friend as they shared a pillow.

"I think we fell apart, Ally, we hardly saw each other before I left 'cause of exams and classes and god, he told me he'd try to visit but things got crazy and all of a sudden the phone calls stopped and fuck, I don't think I noticed for like, three days? I can't remember the last time I told him I loved him and I don't know when he told me the same."

Lydia teared up again and Allison pulled her close, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort and nonsense in a way that only a best friend could.

The next day the sun was shining bright from the moment it rose, pink morning clouds clearing by noon for blue skies and temperatures that had students heading for the shade of the library.

Lydia stepped out her hair a messy bun, her eyes little a red rimmed from the night before. She'd decided to head to the labs, check in with her professors and catch up on the reading she missed and everything was okay until she walked by the coffee shop and spotted three familiar faces.

Stiles wasn't really over the surprise of Scott telling him Lydia was back on campus. His girlfriend, or his ex-girlfriend, hadn't told him she was returning. And after the initial gut wrenching twist that settled itself in his stomach, his mind wrestled with the thought that maybe Lydia didn't have to tell him anything anymore.

He'd explained to Isaac and Scott with a strained voice, his eyes on the table and his finger peeling off the label on his to go cup, how he didn't know what was going on.

How they'd lost track of each other, how he didn't know if he could make things better for her.

And then the girl whose name was on his lips walked by, flaming hair almost pink in the sun and in a white summer dress that made his heart fall into his stomach. She was tanned, just like when he first met her in her freshman year, straight off a plane from California and the sun kissing every part of her.

He wondered if she had tan lines like last year when they'd spent days by a lake, hardly clothed and never apart.

He wondered if she was still his and he was still hers.

But when she stumbled over the sight of him, eyes wide and still so green, Stiles saw the panic seep into her and she kept walking, headed into one of the buildings and didn't look back.

The silence lasted almost a minute, and Scott slapped him companionably on the back as Isaac tried to soften the awkwardness by telling him that the whole situation was probably one big misunderstanding. And when Malia met them twenty minutes later and perched herself on Isaac's knee, she agreed with her boyfriend and reminded them all of Christmas three years ago in New York.

The three boys groaned simultaneously, with Stiles swiping his hand over his face and watching the door to the science building with his breath trapped in his ribs. No one walked out with hair that looked like autumn. And when everyone else left and the waitress came out to move the chairs from the patio and wipe down the tables, Stiles was still sitting and waiting, hoping a little longer.

A week had passed and their friends were growing more frustrated at having to see them both separately. Seven days had been and gone and both Stiles and Lydia had let everything go and given up. They hadn't seen each other again, they hadn't spoken.

Lydia had found herself walking the long way home from the library, choosing the path that room her by the boy's apartment, just in case. Stiles had fourteen drafts sitting in his texts, his Facebook messages, his emails, all starting differently and ending with "I love you."

But classes were starting up again soon, the small summer break coming to an end and campus became a chaos of studying and exams once more, a reminder of what seemed to drag them both apart in the first place.

And not only did Lydia have the thought of sharing two classes with the boy looming over her, his things were still in her dorm, belongings and presents and reminders of a relationship that she wasn't sure how it broke apart.

His t-shirt was under her pillow, hidden from Allison and soft and worn from her constant touching. She wasn't sure if it still smelled like him and she was terrified to even check - she didn't know what outcome would hurt more.

And when she'd packed his forgotten sweater and books in a box, Allison sat silently on her bed and watched. And when she'd taken the photos of him and them off of her wall and out of photo frames, Kira had choked on a hurt sound, asked her why the fuck they'd given up.

"It's not the same anymore," Lydia had replied, blunt and bored and trying not to cry, "things are different and that's okay."

Allison stayed silent but Kira had stood from her cross legged position on their rug with a little fire in her eyes, "bullshit, you're both too fucking stubborn to try and fix it," she'd told her friend, "and you know, I don't think you even know what you'd be trying to fix anyway."

"That's the point, Kira!" Lydia spat, her hands clutching at a photo of her and Stiles in Deacons, tipsy and happy and her curled on his knee, "I don't know what we need to fix, I don't know what happened!"

"That's 'cause nothing actually happened Lydia! Life happened, shit happened! Just talk to each other!"

Kira burst, and for the first time in their friendship, she left without saying goodbye and slammed the door behind her.

"She's just frustrated," Allison explained weakly.

So Lydia left too.

Three weeks later she was sitting next to Aiden in Mythology, listening to Professor Hale explain Plato's theory on Grecian soulmates and trying to pretend that she couldn't fucking feel Stiles Stilinski's eyes on her.

She knew he was sat up the back, in the seat she always found him in, right next to the one that she usually claimed too. She knew because she'd walked past him, trying not to look and trying not to give in.

'Cause he was still the same, with messy hair and a little more tanned from summer. And she knew if she looked closely, he'd have new freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. He was wearing the shirt that she loved, the one that was threadbare and soft and showed off his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves.

He'd stopped doodling on his textbook when she walked in, stopped fucking breathing like he could sense her.

And when Hale explained how the Greek gods thought humans in love were so dangerous and powerful together, that the god of gods was terrified of them, Lydia thought it wasn't just a myth.

Another two weeks passed when Lydia found herself ignoring everything all her friends had to say. She pulled on that white sundress again, some heeled sandals and pretty red lipstick before meeting Aiden for the date he'd been asking for for weeks. She avoided Allison, ignored Kira, brushed off Malia and walked out the door with more than just nerves battling in her stomach.

And when they sat across from each other at the table in a fancy downtown restaurant Lydia had never heard of, she felt like she was cheating on someone that wasn't even hers anymore.

Aiden was charming and flirtatious, bold and talkative, everything like Stiles was and totally and utterly different. He wasn't Stiles.

His hair was lighter and buzzed short, his eyes weren't brown and he didn't call her Kitten. His flirting was well practiced, smooth and he was an all American golden boy with his straight white teeth and his penchant for winking at her after bad double entendres.

He wasn't rough around the edges and he was broader and reminded her too much of Jackson. He didn't make her laugh like she used to, he didn't push her to the edge and pull her back with a kiss.

He wasn't Stiles and Lydia almost hated him for that. It was unfair to him, to her, to everything.

So the world decided to be cruel when the door to the restaurant opened and Stiles walked in with a blonde haired girl, Lydia downed the rest of her wine and hoped to god Aiden wouldn't order dessert.

But he did and ordered ice cream to share as Stiles sat at the bar and stared at Lydia open mouthed over his dates shoulder.

Lydia nibbled half a chocolate wafer and lasted twenty minutes before she apologised to Aiden and stood abruptly. She felt Stiles' eyes on her as she swept past the bar where he sat, the blonde girl beside him unfamiliar and different and not her.

Half an hour later she found herself outside Stiles' apartment, her thighs cold on the brick stairwell. And the lights on the fourth floor weren't on, the windows dark and the apartment that she hadn't been inside in months empty looking. But she only had to wait another ten minutes before the headlights of the old jeep lit her up like a Christmas tree and Stiles stepped out like he knew she'd be there waiting.

"What's her name?" Lydia asked, trying so hard to keep her voice level and sane. But she knew the jealousy would be there and she knew even more than Stiles would be able to hear it.

"Jessica", Stiles answered, standing a few feet away from her, his hands stuffed in his trousers pocket like he thought she was dangerous.

Lydia nodded, like he'd just told her the weather was nice. She stood too, her dress falling to the bottom of her thighs, grazing at her still warm skin as the last of the sun disappeared behind the student hall building.

The sky was turning lilac and the world seemed to be getting ready for something spectacular to happen.

Stiles fingered at his car keys inside his pocket, his hands itching to reach out and touch the girl he had hardly had a chance to look at for weeks on end. His eyes raked over her curls and her eyes and full, red lips. She looked the same, she still looked like his. And that fucking white dress made her look like summer and danger and everything he loved about her and it hurt so damn much.

"Do you like her?" Lydia asked, her feet still planted a few meters away from him, bare on the pavement and her shoes swinging from her fingers.

Stiles heard the shake in her voice, saw the uncertainty in her eyes and the jealousy that made her square her shoulders and stand a little straighter. The boy almost smiled at the sight, cause it looked like hope and Lydia looked like everything he ever fucking asked for for Christmas.

But it was the middle of summer and it was nine o'clock at night, the air was still warm and Stiles' heart was burning.

"No, not really," he answered honestly, kicking at the pavement and scuffing his shoes. Silence passed, invisible beats that they could only hear in each other's thundering hearts, "I don't even really know her."

"So, Aiden, huh?" Stiles finally managed to squeeze out his throat in rebuttal. He coughed, grimaced as he rose his head to look at the girl.

"Yeah," she replied, shrugging helplessly and twisting uncomfortably so her dress twirled around her thighs, lifted slightly in the summer breeze.

"Do you like him?"

"Uh yeah, I guess," Lydia told him, meeting his eyes and thinking to herself if they'd always been that fucking pretty, "but not like that."

Not like you, she almost said.

"We're friends," she clarified and Stiles unclenched his fist from inside his pocket, felt the stinging mark that his keys had left on his palm.

"What are we then?" Stiles asked, his voice harsher than he meant and it sounded like a bite. But his eyes were squinting against the setting sun and he looked like the boy Lydia fell in love with.

"I, uh, I don't know Stiles, I don't know anything anymore," Lydia swallowed heavily and tried not to notice how the boy flinched when his name left her lips.

Her lips trembled and warmth traveled up her neck, a heat that wasn't summer and made her eyes prick with tears. She huffed a sigh, dropped her shoes on the concrete before bringing her hands to temple and letting herself break.

She gulped in air that was too muggy, tried to blink back tears that fell anyway. Her breath caught on nothing, her throat felt like sandpaper and she was ready to erupt.

"Shit, Stiles, I don't know what happened, w-what happened?"

She shattered.

And the boy caught her.

She let out a sob that wrecked her chest, a hiccup that was painful and tears fell down her cheeks like rain that no one had seen for weeks. It took her a few seconds to realise that Stiles had his arms around her, tight and desperate and clutching the fabric of her dress in his hands. Lydia let out another sob and then his palms were cupping her cheeks, cradling her jaw and staring down at her like he was scared she'd disappear.

"Hey, hey now, come on," he whispered, stroking back her hair, letting his thumb brush over a tear that had caught on the corner of her lip, "let's go inside, huh? Come on Lydia, come on. It's okay."

He murmured to her nonsensically, watched in horror as the girl's breath hitched and stuttered. But her hand was clinging to his with the same desperation that he was holding hers with so he led her up the stairs and into his building, the air warmer inside and becoming stuffier as they climbed the stairwell together, both of them almost silent - their heavy breaths and Lydia's sniffs breaking the quiet.

She almost ran from the familiar sight of the door at the end of the fourth floor. The one that she'd held onto drunk and laughing, the one that she'd been pushed up against with insistent lips on her own. Sties seemed to sense her hesitance 'cause he held her palm a little tighter and told her again it was okay.

She looked like she was ready to run.

But they made it inside the dark apartment that Lydia noted hadn't changed at all. The fridge still hummed obnoxiously and there was empty beer bottles balanced like cards by the side of Isaac's armchair. There was a dirty plate by the sink and there was still photos pinned on the corkboard by the kitchen window. Her own face stared back at her in several of them, usually squished cheek to cheek with Stiles and a grin covering her lips.

The boy shuffled around behind her, dropped her heels by the door that she hadn't even noticed him picking up. He turned a lamp on in the corner, squinted at her in the sudden light and then they both stood awkwardly in his living room, surrounded by silence and memories.

Stiles moved until the coffee table stood between them, eyeing the girl with concern but refusing to come too close to her.

"Are you okay?''

Lydia laughed, helpless and frustrated and still through tears.

"No,'' she told him honestly, "are you?''

He decided to be honest too, "no," he told her, "I don't think I've been okay for a while now."

Lydia's toe kicked at the leg of the table, her eyes downcast and set on the way the grain of the wood swirled round and round. The setting sun was still shining in the too big window that she used to love looking out of, making the entire room warm and pastel and pretty. It didn't match her mood and it made her dress the colour of the sky and Stiles' eyes turn gold. She hated it.

"What happened Stiles?''

He floundered at her question, grasped at nothingness as he attempted to answer. And when she finally looked up and let him meet her eyes, he sunk - his heart, his stomach, his soul, his words.

"Shit, Ki- Lydia, I don't fucking know but I'm sorry.''

Lydia frowned, let out another laugh that wasn't really filled with humour.

"What the hell are you sorry for?" She rubbed at her cheek, tried to rid herself of her tears.

"You're crying," the boy stated, his voice cracking a little, "I hate it when you cry, you don't deserve to cry."

And well, that just made new tears spring to the girl's eyes. She gulped, stared at the ceiling as she tried to take even breaths. She dropped herself to the sofa, she didn't know what she was doing here, or what would be the outcome. She hated that the boy before her seemed scared to get too close. But the girl could still feel his hands burning into her face, his fingers that had traced her jawline for nothing but a fleeting second.

Silence took over for a few minutes more, surrounding them and forcing Lydia to look at the floor until the coffee table creaked and Stiles' feet came into her vision. The boy sat on the edge of the surface, his knees bracketing hers and his face close enough for her to touch.

His voice was a whisper when he spoke, a murmur of a breath that washed over her own. And he smelled like mint toothpaste and the aftershave he'd worn since she'd known him.

"I think, uh, I think, that I forgot how important you are to me,'' Stiles told her, nodding slightly to himself, "I guess, that uh, uh exams and classes and shit got too much, and well, fuck - I forgot you were there too.''

Lydia shook her head, blinked and gulped and braced herself before reply.

"Stiles, it's your last year before graduating, you're supposed to concentrating on all of that, I'm not more important than your, your, shit - your exams and your future, god! No, look, it's not your fault, it's, shit, I don't know! I don't know..."

"Hey, hey, Lydia, no,'' Stiles hushed her softly, took her hands that were fidgeting between them in his own and held them still and warm, "listen to me, okay?"

Lydia nodded, let out a shuddering sigh before trying to calm the fucking terror that was swirling in her chest and crushing her lungs.

"I know this is an important year for me. And I know that I need to get good grades and graduate and get a job and a house and all that important shit, I know, okay?"

"But, shit, Kitten - none of that means anything if you aren't there too."

Lydia let go of the breath she was holding, let out a sob and a hiccup and a laugh and let Stiles run his thumb over her knuckles until she bit down on her lip and nodded, agreeing and making him smile for what seemed like the first time in weeks and weeks.

"Cause you listen to me, alright Lydia Martin? I'm gonna get us a house, yeah? With a fireplace and a big yard and a bookcase for you to fill up. I'm gonna marry you, okay? And we're gonna have kids - and fuck, that's scary - but I'll do it with you."

Lydia laughed, nodded again 'cause words fucking failed her. And the boy dropped to his knees between her own as the sky faded to darker shades of pink and purple outside. He played with curl between his finger and thumb, let his eyes follow the tilt of her lips as she smiled for him, relief radiating through the two of them like a lightning current.

"I'm sorry I forgot how important you are,'' Stiles whispered to her lips.

"I'm sorry I forgot how important you are to me too," Lydia spoke back, all soft and hoarse.

Their foreheads met, bumpy and clumsy, "too much happened at once, huh?" Stiles asked, his breath falling over her lips and making her hair lift.

She nodded, closed her eyes and asked the question she'd been too scared to ask for weeks and days and hours.

"You still love me?"

Lydia felt rather than saw the boys smile, felt it against her lips as he moved closer. He told her yes, that he hadn't stopped and never would. He made her more promises as he led her to his room, and whispered some back as she helped him out his shirt. And by the time they were both tangled together in nothing but his sheets, they'd promised that nothing had happened between Aiden and the girl Jessica, vowed that the past few weeks would never be repeated.

And when they woke in the morning, it felt like familiarity and everything good, with Stiles' bare chest pressed against Lydia's naked back and his arms strong and warm and wound around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her spine, her shoulder, her neck, called her Kitten and let her steal a shirt to wrap around herself.

Their friends didn't question it at first, not really, not like one would with high school style gossip. Stiles and Lydia were together like they were supposed to be, and they were so happy that their friends grinned with them, smiled at the sight of the couple tumbling out of Stiles' bedroom the next morning, flushed and bare skin flashing and happy.

They didn't question what was meant to be.


	5. 28 AUGUST 2020

It was Summer and a Sunday and Lydia was standing doing laundry. Sunlight that was still soft and gentle washed over the apartment, making everything a little bit pink.   
She stood, ankle high in dirty clothes, her long legs bare and her hair a messy knot on the top of her head. The apartment still smelled new, fresh, the scent of just bought carpets coming from the bedrooms. There were boxes lining the hall, piled high and labelled with Allison's name and her own.

Textbooks for their senior classes created a small library on the coffee table Scott helped them build, leftover pizza boxes on the floor as their sign of payment.

But it was Sunday and it was early and Allison wasn't home just yet.

The large space was a far cry from the dorm room they had shared for two years before. But they had taken their favourite possessions with them when they moved only three miles across town. Old photos and new lines a larger than ever post it board, polaroids and print outs filling the spaces between new class schedules and essay deadlines. The couch - their first purchase as best friends truly living together - was huge. Comfy and perfect and taking up a considerable amount of space. It was large enough to fit them all on it, all seven of them.

(Eight on the the weekends when Danny came back to campus.)

It had enough room for her and Stiles to lie side by side on, had more than enough room for her to straddle her boyfriend whilst telling him off for digging his hands into the cushions too tight, her lips on his jaw and her hands in his hair.

And with an empty apartment and no one else to sit on her favourite piece of furniture, she gathers her laundry in her arms and dumps it on the sofa unceremoniously. She has music playing from her iPod dock, the blinds that cover the large windows are only half open and the morning sun makes everything glitter.

When she turns the music up just a little bit louder, a key turns in the door, unheard, and warm hands capture her waist.

She turns after her heart jumps, ignores the other rattle in her chest when she recognises the scent of aftershave and detergent for a whole other reason.

Stiles looks down at her with an amused smile on his face, his hair still soft and mussed from his pillow and sleep.

"I need to do laundry," she tells him as a way of explanation, her bare toes wiggling against the wooden floor.

When he laughs, he huffs out a breath that smells like mint toothpaste and Lydia bites down on her lip to hide her smile. It's only 8am and the boy came across town just to see her.

"Laundry?" He repeats, his hands still rough and squeezing gently at her waist.

"Uhuh," Lydia replies, hooking her arms around his neck so she can pull him a little closer, "I'm down to two pairs of underwear, one shirt and five socks."

"What a tragedy," Stiles murmurs, his hands skating lower and finding only underwear and bare skin under the top that's far too big for her.

He asses the material on her, too big and with a neckline that's too low and stretched out. The materials washed out with a logo on the front that's hardly even there anymore.

"That's my shirt," he tells her, eyes soft and smile sharp, his hands cupping her ass.

The girl tries and fails to hide her smile, bats her eyes wide and innocent instead as she asks, "it is?"

Stiles slips his hands upwards, trailing heat along her waist and over her back, humming in delight when he finds no bra strap to interrupt him.

"That's my favourite shirt, Kitten,"

He mouths at her jaw, bites down bluntly at her before slanting his lips over her own and kissing her softly. She makes noises of approval into his mouth, tugs him down a little further when she wants to kiss him deeper.

But it's Sunday morning and it's Summer outside and the boy is feeling playful. So he pulls back slightly, feels the girl huff and rise to her toes to kiss him back properly. And when he's at his full height and Lydia can't reach his lips anymore, he laughs and places a peck on her nose.

"You're awful," she tells him, voice haughty and nose wrinkled. She crosses her arms over her chest, the wrinkled and threadbare material of the Blink 182 shirt doing nothing to hide the outline of her breasts.

And when her boyfriend's gaze drops and his eyes go from soft to dark and hooded, she straightens up a little more, squares her shoulders and cocks her hips.

"No, you're awful," Stiles retorts childishly, but his voice wavers and it comes out a rumble instead .

He wraps a hand around her forearm, pulls her back to him and cups her jaw in his hands 'cause it's almost been three years he can't stop touching her.

"Gimmie a kiss, huh?" He asks, voice sweet and rough, "I'll even make it easy for you, Kitten, c'mon."

He perches on the edge of the sofa back, bringing him down a whole foot, before he winks and licks his lips in anticipation.

Lydia scowls.

"Come on, show me how awful I apparently am, huh?"

Lydia takes his words as a challenge, an invitation and Stiles anticipates the bite she gives to his lower lip, quickly soothed by a sweep of her tongue that makes him groan. She's between his legs, hands on his chest and fingers curling into his shirt as she kisses him slow and deep and with everything she's got.

It's lazy and hot and it makes Stiles dizzy.

One small hand slides up to cup the side of his throat, her palm finding the erratic pulse point in his neck. And when he pants, eager and low, into the hollow of her mouth, she feels that too.

When Lydia pulls away for air, Stiles mouths at her jaw, trailing his lips to her neck and finding that spot by her ear that makes her knees give out. But he's got his arms round her waist and one hand on the skin between her ass and thigh and he just holds her a little tighter.

They pull away from each other, just a little, until they're breathing the same air and both their eyes are ten shades darker than they were before.

"Gonna give me my shirt back babe?" Stiles asks, his voice anything but sweet and when Lydia does nothing but bat her long eyelashes at him, his finger finds the line of her cotton pants and he snaps the elastic against her skin.

So she kisses him quick, fast and dirty before fingering the strong line of his collarbone through his t-shirt and then shoving him over the couch.

He lands flat on his back with some of the laundry scattered around him and he kicks a pile of denim and cotton to the floor, runs a hand through his hair and lets it stand on end as Lydia appears from the other side of the couch.

He smiles up at her, watches her and lets his lips turn into a grin. 'Cause he knows his girl and he knows what she's thinking.

'Cause she's standing over him and watching him with big, doe eyes that are darker than night and a flush across her cheeks that Stiles just knows will have travelled down to her chest.

But she's biting her lip and keeping just out of the boys reach. She just wants to watch, you see? Just wants to look.

Because the boy is so pretty and he's lying there with hair soft and messy, his shirt rucked up just enough to see pointed hipbones and tanned skin peeking out from his jeans that are pulled too low. And she's never felt safer than when she's at Stiles' side but fuck it all, the boy still makes her feel a little wild inside.

"Feelin'' some kind of way Kitten?" Stiles asks her from the sofa, he runs his hand across his stomach, lets his fingers catch the hem of his shirt and pull it up a little until a dark trail of hair leads her eyes down to the band of his boxers.

"No," she huffs, voice unsteady and eyes hiding lies.

"Gonna give me my shirt back now?"

"No," she tells him again, legs moving her closer until Stiles wraps a warm palm around the back of her calf and pulls gently, persuading.

She drops despite her words of stubbornness, let's her knees fall apart and find purchase on either side of her boyfriend's hips and he catches her just like she knew he would, takes her weight in his hands, lets her lean down to kiss him again.

And he moans into her, cups the back of her head and tangles his fingers in the baby curls that have escaped her bun when she tries to pull away too soon.

'Cause Lydia's on top of him with nothing but his shirt and a pair of black Calvin Kleins on and she's exactly where he wants her.

He fingers the hem of her shirt - his shirt - pulls the material away from her body and smiles into her lips when she whispers expletives in a voice that sounds like sugar and honey.

"Sit up for me," he tells her, his soft voice taking away the demanding edge.

But she does as she's told, submissive only like this, only for him. She pulls away, drops her hand to the bare skin between his hipbones, right where his body makes the shape of a "V".

Lydia holds her breath when his hands lift the shirt up, gently and slowly as the cool, apartment air meets her skin. He smiles when the thick, white band of her underwear appears, hums appreciatively when he pulls the material up further, purses his lips when the long line of her stomach comes into sight.

He can't help bring his other hand into play, run his palm up the curve of her ribs, stops short when her breath comes out with a little moan. He smirks.

"Wanna take this off for me?" He tries again, voice coming out a little tight, his jaw slack at the sight before him.

His girls just shakes her head, strawberry blonde strands coming loose around her flushed cheeks. Her lips are swollen, red and well kissed and Stiles can't help bring his hand up to her, let his thumb pull at it a little until she bit down on the pad, let out a breathy laugh around it.

Stiles tutted, tried not to rut up against her as the metal of his zipper became painful.

He plucked at the shirt one more time, raised his eyebrow in a silent question and chuckled lowly when Lydia merely wiggled her hips in response.

"You're just asking for trouble, aren't you?" He pulled the material up another inch or two, sucked in a breath and let out an appreciative noise when the bottom of the girls breasts came into view, no other material to cover her. All smooth skin that was tanned from the summer sun, that light, rosy flush that he just fucking knew was there.

And when he dropped his hand back to his chest, Lydia kept the material rucked up there by herself. Stiles licked his lips, said nothing, sighed raggedly.

She used her the tip of her thumb to pull the top up further, let her breasts fall from under the material and Stiles swore, making her laugh softly.

"Killin' me babe," Stiles muttered, coming to life and wrapping his hands around her waist. He sat up and pushed back, crowded the girl down on the couch until he count nip and kiss his way across her body, smooth his hands over the long line of her stomach. He scraped his teeth over her ribs before leaning up and chasing her lips with his own.

Kissing Lydia was like riding lightning. She was electric, she sent sparks down his spine and he kissed dangerously. She played unfairly.

So when the girl wrapped one long, naked leg around the boy's hip, he could only concede defeat and let himself be pulled down into the cradle of her hips.

His hands find her hips, his fingers curl into the waistband of her underwear and he gives a small tug, his lips still on hers as he asks:

"Wanna take these off for me Kitten?"

Lydia replies by shucking off his shirt first, hands grabby and impatient before they trace the lines of muscle that run from his shoulders and down his arms. She answers again by lifting her hips for him, bites down on skin on his shoulders that she unveiled and whines a little when he drags her underwear down her thighs.

"Good girl," he tells her, hot and mouthy and one hand keeping his shirt bunched up just under her chin. He drops kisses all over her, knows just the right spots to make her mewl and arch up into him.

The lazy morning atmosphere changes a little when he works one finger inside of her, taps out a rhythm on her clit. He says the most wicked of things against her jaw, swallows her moans with his mouth and tells her how wet and hot she is when Lydia becomes too impatient and pushes his jeans down his hips with her toes.

She huffs as she comes down, pants out into the air that seems warmer before and wonders when the sun got that little bit brighter. But she follows the boy as he sits up, her boy, crawls over him again and lets herself pull his boxers out the way so she can sink down on him.   
It starts slow again, lazy like a Sunday and he can smell coconut sun lotion on her skin as he nuzzles at the space between her breasts.

"Off?" Lydia finally asks, concedes, plucking at the the hem of the stolen shirt.

But Stiles shakes his head, grips her hips a little tighter as he helps her ride him and when Lydia frowns he answers by saying:

"Mine."

And suddenly he isn't talking about the shirt anymore and it fills Lydia with a heat that's more stifling that the summer outside. Another pile of laundry falls to the floor as she rocks a little faster, making the boy tip his head back, his jawline sharp and the muscle there ticking. He swears and stutters when Lydia drops a hand between her legs, a furrow between her brows as she helps them both get there.

"Aw, Kitten, that's it," Stiles encourages her, pulling her tighter and letting his hands wander across the expanse of her back, "'atta girl, Lydia."

And that does it.

Stiles only calls Lydia by her real name when they're arguing or in moments like these. Private moments, intimate and hot and possessive. And it makes her fall apart - and Stiles always falls right after.

The sun soon becomes too bright, higher in the sky than before and shining directly into their nest on the sofa. Surrounded by jumpers and new bedsheets, Lydia lies on top of Stiles, his hand running up and down her spine as she hums contently.

The summer heat leaks through the window and finally makes them move, stretching out their lips and thumbing at their kiss swollen lips.

And when Lydia announces that she's going to take a shower, she strips off Stiles' shirt and drops it on his lap, counts the seconds that pass before he adds it to the pile of laundry still on the floor and follows her to the bathroom.

  
A/N: Hey there. Remember me? I barely do either, it's fine. So I'm ill. I have the flu and a fever and I'm hopped up on antibiotics and well, I guess a heavily medicated Magan is a determined/inspired one, 'cause that came out of fucking nowhere. Hope you guys enjoy, I'm gonna go take another nap.


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